"Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness."
Khalil Gibran

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

A Waste of Pitiless Anarchy

The Open Door
Nikos Hadjikyriakos-Ghikas (1927)


Monuments


the stuff
stained
by
love
keeps
deep and useless
contradictions

medieval

dirtied poets relish
their recipes for stone
while
the children's sweetness
is afraid of
singing

go on

devour your fill
of sugar*


Artifice


When I pause to consider the pros
of my alternate reality

my mind sweeps to the day a door
between worlds opened

I wanted full knowledge whatever the cost
to present sanity

self-knowledge begins at the sepulcre
doesn’t it

once part of you has been interred
along with the icons

and putting aside of childish things
for good

and it’s too late to unlike the process
causality prefers


Ceremony


I hadn’t heard from you in a while and when you called my hands were lost in the grisly dishwater. Hard to know what to say at such times, so I blurted out that you’d caught me in the middle of a hot flash and instantly regretted that I had shattered your decade’s old image of a sexier me. Then I didn’t regret it. We are scarcely likely to meet again. ‘Life is an experiment,’ you said. I had a vision of glass pipes and bulbous test tubes and me as the last powdered element to be cast over the purple flame. No explosion.  We were always non-lovers but occasionally bored.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


This (highly) experimental piece is the result of a week's worth of reading and contemplating various writing prompts (and a debilitating lack of purpose on my part). I acknowledge that the end result may be abstracted to the point of being garbled but I lay it down at my readers' feet nonetheless.

My sources of inspiration are by no means responsible for the chaos.

Get Listed! features the poetry of W.B. Yeats. This is my source for all titles used.

The Sunday Mini-Challenge features the poetry of *Pablo Neruda from which my part entitled Monuments constitutes a 'found poem'. 

Lastly, my reading of  Nice Cage Issue #3 encouraged me to try something different.




15 comments:

  1. self knowledge begins at the sepulchre... love this second rumination..

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  2. Hey Kerry, thanks for filling in the hole I dug. I'm finally back from my last event for a while, and though still have tons of paperwork, will have a more normal schedule.

    To your piece -

    The first title is so pleasingly melodic when spoken aloud - I imagine your accent - that it takes a moment to sink in.

    There is a Cubist feel for me here: the single word lines in the first piece like strands of hair on end; the couplets as pairs of moving legs descending into the sepulcher of our self-knowledge; and the last, a full body of image - that grisly water, the heat, the acceptance and not-quite-wry final sentence.

    I hope your experimentation keeps going ~

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  3. I was able to recognize the prompt; I like your response; very 'out of the box'

    much love...

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  4. I really love the contrast between the three pieces.. the prose poem made me think of such relationships we want to mean more than they do... or the other way around.

    Yes I think this is a great way of freeing yourself up

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  5. Your words continue to inspire me, Kerry!❤️ Such emotion in "dirtied poets relish their recipes for stone while the children's sweetness is afraid of singing" and depth in "self-knowledge begins at the sepulcre doesn’t it." Sigh..❤️ beautifully executed!


    Lots of love,
    Sanaa

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  6. 'The children's sweetness is afraid of singing"
    Was my favorite here. Kerry. Children love to sing but they can be silenced so easily, sometimes forever. Cruel someone at the root.
    This was enjoyable, I liked your divisions, they reminded me of a Church of England worship service. Set out with a seemingly unrelated structure, this, then that, time to pray (about six unrelated prayers here) the message, another this, ...
    As of now I'm not writing this week, probably though I will lurk here some more.
    ..

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  7. I loved this combination. I don't know exactly what it meant, but I enjoyed reading it.

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    Replies
    1. I don't know exactly what it meant either, so you're on the right track.
      ;-)

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  8. Wow! I know these people. Not the writers but the causes. Dream on... and continue creating yourself.

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  9. I love them all, together and separate.

    Together... because they speak of the wonderful chaos that is mind dancing with emotion and living. Separate... because the first makes me think of simplicity that isn't simple at all, of how a bit of smoke can never truly tell the size of the fire within; the second is a sigh of regret; and the third, perhaps my favorite, is life... life wanting to be more, and knowing that it is what it is.

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  10. There's a triptych of poetries here, three voices in the head singing in counterpoint. The aria--wise, wilting, undaunted--soars from the three together.

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  11. I always love reading you, Kerry. I think right now abstract is preferable to reality, easier to digest. Smiles. We soldier on. So sad, "the children's sweetness is afraid of singing." Argh.

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  12. Maybe its because of how strangely diverse aspects of my life have become, I liked these pieces as vignettes of a busy mind. I think I was most charmed by the first stanza of the fist poem, because yes sentiment does color our world and sometimes adds meaning to the most trivial of things. I did like the feeling of searching that was inspired by the second poem. The third was also clever with it's play on the idea of chemistry between two people.

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  13. dirtied poets relish their recipes for stone..Love that
    Lately my mind travels between damn, hallelujah and fear.
    I keep feeling like I'm chiseling monuments.

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  14. I can relate to the painting and Ceremony.Eerie... A sort of Dada poem. Liked it. You have inspired me. I will write one too

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Let's talk about it.